


Ink

by MomoPeachfuz



Category: Campaign (Podcast), Star Wars
Genre: B.I.I.K.E., Bacta fails all his coordination rolls, F/M, clone feels, why Kaminoans suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomoPeachfuz/pseuds/MomoPeachfuz
Summary: The night Bacta and Rendezvous shared during B.I.I.K.E. was more memorable than either would admit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Origiionally posted to my tumblr.

Bacta wanted to be a gentleman and walk her to the door of her ship, but then he kept on walking, right up the ramp, and onto the ship. Rendezvous didn’t object.  
Inside the living quarters, Bacta tripped over a crumpled pelt she’d left on the floor. He caught Rendezvous shoulder for support. 

“Easy there hotshot,” she said. Bacta wrapped his arm around her as if he’d meant to from the start. This close to her, he noticed a smudge of green frosting on her cheek.

“You’ve got, uh–” he brushed it off with his knuckle, “green velour.”

Rendezvous chuckled. On impulse she took the clone’s hand and lifted it to her mouth. Goosebumps spread up Bacta’s arm as she licked the frosting from his knuckle.

“Mhm,” she purred, “nutmeg.”

“Yeah? Oh yeah, the uh, frosting.” Bacta felt lightheaded in a way that he was pretty sure had very little to do with alcohol. He slid his arm back, and went to lean against the door behind him, but the door must have had some sort of motion sensor because it slid open and Bacta stumbled backwards into the cabin, landing on the queen-sized bed that took up most of the room.

“What? When they dished out the superior coordination they skip your batch or something?”

“No, no, the Kaminoans just didn’t plan for alcohol consumption.”

Vuvu flopped down beside him and Bacta rolled onto his side, facing her. The bed was unmade: a crumpled black fur coverlet and assorted pillows strewn over revealing black satin sheets. Making beds seemed like another one of those things Valentines just don’t do.

“So what? They just sent a million plus men off to fight a bloody, intergalactic war and figured ‘Let’s just make them lightweights. It’s not like they’re gonna have anything horrible to drink away.’”

“No, war’s all just sunshine and kriffing rainbows!” said Bacta, “Why would we need to drink? No they left that out along with other non-essential traits, like the ability to live out a full human lifespan.”

“Dark,” said Vuvu.

“Not that I’m bitter. No, not true, really bitter about that. But at least my bar tab’s cheap, right?”

Rendezvous flipped on a lamp then rolled onto her side facing Bacta. He studied the tribal tattoo that began at the side of her neck and curved down and across her collarbone before disappearing underneath her shirt. He reached over and traced the black ink lines.

“Is there a story behind this?”

“A long one. You want to see the rest?”

“Well, as one ink aficionado to another…wait…”

Rendezvous sat up and had her shirt over her head before he could finish. The tattoo went lower, curving with her cleavage. Bacta could make out letters in Aurabesh, worked into the pattern just over her heart, but the words made no sense to him.

“You need to see the whole thing to get the full effect.” She turned her back to him and Bacta stared a minute before realizing she wanted him to take off her bra. It was a simple hook clasp but Bacta’s hands–steady surgeon’s hands that shouldn’t be shaking and sweating this way–were suddenly completely useless.

“You’re too old to be this much of a virgin!” she laughed and smacked his hand away, unclasping it herself.

“I’m 17," he said.

“What?” She turned around.

“I’m only 17.”

“That’s…cruel.” She studied his face, the worry lines around his eyes, the grey in his 5 o'clock shadow. She knew he had to be younger than he looked, but 17? At his age, she was blasting around Tatooine, mouthing off in cantinas, brawling, racing swoop bikes, and screwing local boys and would-be bounty hunters in the back seats of speeders.

Bacta traced the curve of the tattoo, over her collarbone, up the back of her neck. Then he kisses her. Damn curses and loss. Damn Kaminoan genetic fuckery. Tonight, he was young and Rendevous’s breasts were hot against his chest as she leaned in to the kiss, her hand gripping the back of his neck.

“I showed you mine,” she whispered. She tug at his shirt and Bacta obliged, letting go of her long enough that she could pull it over his head. She ran her fingers over his shoulder, down the list of names, hovering over the image of the Devronian Jedi. She’d ask about that later, maybe even tell him that the words on her chest were remembrances of her own siblings, written in their childhood code--though she’s never, ever tell them.

Now Bacta felt her skin against his bare chest. He pulled her into an embrace, giving himself time to take in the feeling of another being so close. But Vuvu was not as patient. She kissed his neck, but her hands were already unbuttoning his pants. Bacta’s head tilted back, lips parted as her fingers brushed his dick through his boxers. If it hadn’t been at attention before, it sure was now, and he silently thanked the Force for this one thing the Kaminoans hadn’t robbed him of. They’d debated it. What use would beings bred in test tubes have for working sex organs? But it would have been too much work to find a solution that wouldn’t affect growth and muscle development. To the cloners, tonight was no more than an unfortunate side effect of his humanity, But for Bacta, it was proof of it. 

He lowered Vuvu down onto her back and pulled the rest of his clothes off, and couldn’t help but grin when he saw her appraising smile. Together, they disposed of what little clothing she left. Then he kisses her. And while he kissed her, his hands explored. Vuvu was right: Bacta was a virgin. But she was a good teacher. She whispered in his ear exactly what she wanted, rewarding him with gentle nips and sucking at his earlobe when he delivered. She guided his hands with hers, placing his fingers where she wanted them. And then his reward was her moans and her bucking body, her hands clenching his shoulders, and the way she cussed and said his name. She ran her fingers down his chest, pausing over his nipples, rubbing one between her middle and forefinger, and another physiological feature whose use would have been lost on the cloners suddenly made sense.

Rendezvous was not shy about using her hands. She wasn’t shy about anything. Lesai had nothing on the feeling of her fingers around his cock.

He leaned forward, kissing her again. Her tongue explored his mouth, but her hand kept working. Bacta covered her fingers with his.

“Slow down,” he said. The way she was working him, he wouldn’t last long, and Bacta wanted this to last. If Rendezvous could be so direct about what she wanted, so could he. He guided her hand off of him and pinned it against the pillow. He gripped her thigh with his other hand, and she spread her legs. “I want…this,” he said, and pressed against her. “I want so many things but right now, just this.”

“Take it, then.” She said wrapping her legs around him. So he did.


End file.
